I sat at a table filled with sweet sweet ladies, that I don't know well, connected only by the lovely pregnant lady across from me. I sat listening to them talk about their new homes or their time as stay-at-home-moms, a recent trip to somewhere exotic, or a new adventure with a future move. I looked at their polished hair and actual makeup. And I started to compare. I was feeling pretty good in my skinny jeans and cute top (handed down to me by my sister-in-law). I had actually dried my hair and put on my tinted moisturizer before coming. But, I had ignored the piles of both clean and dirty laundry all over the house. My sink was full of dirty dishes, and it smelled bad. And hearing about the nice things these ladies had made my stomach feel heavy.
If I change my perspective and focus on what I have, and not on what others have, I'm content (maybe not with the loads of laundry or the stinky sink, but you know what I mean).
My house tends to be a source of discontent. Not because it isn't enough, but because I compare it with what it isn't.
So, I have been trying to remember all the the things about my house that is really good.
My kids love our steep driveway and the adventure they have at the bottom. I love that our bedroom is so close to my kids' rooms that I can practically hear when one of them rolls over in bed. I love that our kitchen is large enough that we turned part of it into a little "office" when our spare bedroom was filled with a baby. I love that our basement is HUGE and I can shove stuff down there when I simply can't deal with it in the house. I love my hydrangea. I love our quiet road where my family takes walks. And most of all, I love that this is our home, the first place my husband and I lived together and where my babies came home from the hospital.